The Prisoner and the Professor
by Laughing Dragoness
Summary: While Harry Potter was having a memorable third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there were two others who were intimately involved in the events of that year. These are the stories we didn't hear.
1. Prologue

_The Prisoner and the Professor_

Prologue: Escape

The moment that Sirius Black transformed, he felt calmer, more in control. While his mind as a dog ran more on instinct than its human counterpart, it allowed him to focus on his goal. Before this moment he had not allowed himself to ponder the task ahead, for it was huge enough to overwhelm anyone—no one had ever escaped from Azkaban before, and it seemed highly unlikely that Sirius himself would succeed. However, the obsession that had possessed him for the last fortnight still burned within him, impossible to ignore even in this more primal state.

Hogwarts. He had to reach Hogwarts.

Sirius padded the width of his cell, over and over again, waiting. They would come. They always did, it was only a matter of time. The seconds turned into minutes, and then into hours, but Sirius did not slow his pacing. They would come. They always came.

And come they did, and deep in Sirius's mind, he felt a faint stab of satisfaction; he was generally right, always had been. It was gone almost before he felt it, leaving only driving obsession buried under misery. Satisfaction was too much like happiness to last long in Azkaban, with dementors around every corner. At least one was stationed outside his door at all times. And now, one was bringing his food to him, as they did twice a day, every day. It was time for his gamble. If he failed, the security on his cell would become so tight that there was no hope that he would ever get another chance.

After all of his planning, everything went smoothly. His idea had been based around the observation that the dementors did not seem to affect him as much when he transformed. In his mind, that meant that they likely couldn't sense him in the same way. It must have been true, because Sirius was able to slip past the dementor, through the open cell door and into the corridor.

He slunk through the vast fortress that was the wizard prison, listening to the moaning and screaming that issued from the cells of the prisoners. Though he had long since come to ignore the tortured ravings of his fellow inmates, he was struck anew by the weight of suffering that was all around him. No matter what, he would never come back to this place. He would die first. Up until two weeks ago, he wished that he had died that day, the day he heard that James and Lily had been murdered. All his fault.

Sirius felt a moment of panic as he reached the front gate. How was he going to get out? As he approached, however, some of his fear left him. It would be so easy. He slipped through the bars, having lost so much weight in the years since he had arrived that, as a dog, he fit through with room to spare.

All of a sudden, a wave of despair hit him. The dementors must have noticed that he was not in his cell. He shut out everything except one thought, the same thought that had been filling his mind for days, that had haunted his dreams—_he's at Hogwarts_. The thought wasn't happy, or really even positive in any way. It took hold in his mind, and the blackness lifted. He was able to carry on. Realizing that they would be searching for him, Sirius broke into a run. He was very weak, but desperation gave him speed, and he ran flat out until he reached the edge of the island. Thankfully, it was a balmy summer night. He sniffed the air, listening to the waves breaking against the cliff. He needed to find a spot that was lower, fast. He began running the perimeter of the island, looking for a way down, knowing there had to be a way off the island somewhere.

Suddenly, an unnatural chill descended around Sirius. The dementors were catching up, but he was already running as fast as he could—there was no way he was going to reach the shore. He made a split-second decision. Without stopping to think, he changed course, running straight at the cliff. He could only hope that it was low enough that he wouldn't be killed…

Whether it was the recklessness that he had always possessed, the lack of caring about his own life that he had acquired over the last twelve years, or a combination of both, Sirius didn't even pause to consider as he leapt over the edge of the cliff, away from Azkaban.

…

Remus Lupin couldn't sleep. It often happened in the days following a full moon; after he slept off his initial exhaustion, it was sometimes difficult to sleep away the night hours, as if the moon was reluctant to relinquish its hold on him as it slowly waned. Giving it up for a lost cause, he rose from his bed and wandered into the kitchen of his tiny flat, filling the kettle and tapping it with his wand. It whistled loudly as he dug in his cabinet for a teabag. It was his last, and would likely remain that way unless he found work soon. He had been unable to hold a job in months. As he had innumerable times before, he considered merely _forgetting_ to mention his—problem—to his next potential employer. He sighed as he reached the same conclusion as he always did. He wouldn't be able to do it. He was honest by nature, and keeping a secret that could potentially endanger innocent people went against everything he believed in. But unless he found something soon…

A loud tap on the window on his flat startled Remus from his dismal thoughts. A large screech owl was rapping insistently on the window, a letter attached to its leg. Wondering who could possibly be writing at this time of night, Remus let the owl into the kitchen, which was so small that the bird seemed to take up all of the available space. He relieved the owl of his burden and sat down at the table to read, flicking his wand at the lamp, which ignited instantly. The owl remained, preening its feathers on the widow ledge, obviously in case Remus wished to send any kind of reply.

Remus's eyes immediately flicked down to the signature. Why would Albus Dumbledore be writing to him? And in the middle of the night at that? The handwriting seemed to suggest that the writer had been in a hurry. Remus felt a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze drifting in from the open window and he began to read.

_Remus,_

_Please forgive me for the late hour of this letter, but I wished this to reach you before you read the Daily Prophet report in the morning. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. The dementors are, of course, searching for him as we speak, but I suspect that Black will prove difficult to find if he decides that he does not wish to be found. I trust you will do what must be done should he come to you, though I sincerely doubt that he will do so. _

_There is another matter as well, which I would like to discuss with you in person. If it is convenient, perhaps we can meet at the Leaky Cauldron Wednesday at 10 o'clock? _

_I hope you are well, and I hope I shall see you Wednesday. This owl will wait for your reply._

_Most sincerely,_

_ Albus Dumbledore_

Remus read the letter twice, his face white. He felt like this should be a horrible dream—Black, escaped? It couldn't be true… but Dumbledore had written to him personally, and he had no reason to doubt Dumbledore's word.

His hands strangely numb, Remus laid the letter on the table and closed his eyes. The emotions that he had been fighting finally broke through. Anger was most prominent, for any time he thought of Black rage flooded him, but grief was there as well. It was impossible to think of Black, to remember for what he had been imprisoned, without thinking of James and Lily. It was why Remus could never refer to his old school friend by his first name, even inside his own head. Memories of their time at Hogwarts were too much to bear; if anyone had told him then what Sirius Black would one day become he would have laughed in their face.

Slowly, Remus regained control over himself, and remembered that there had been more to Dumbledore's note. Rereading the second part of the letter, Remus found himself wondering what the Hogwarts Headmaster could possibly want with him. There was no clue hidden in the wording of the note that he could uncover. He supposed that he would have to wait until Wednesday to discover the reason behind the meeting.

Remus sighed, realizing that there was now no chance that he would be able to sleep tonight. He poured more hot water into his mug and sat back down to compose his reply to Dumbledore.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Remus Apparated in front of the Leaky Cauldron on Wednesday the thirtieth of July with five minutes to spare. If he knew Dumbledore at all, and Remus liked to think that he did, the headmaster would be precisely on time, and so he went inside the bar and sat at a table to wait.

"Anything to drink?"

Remus smiled. "No thank you Tom, perhaps later, after my appointment."

Tom grinned toothlessly and went back to wiping down his bar. Both of them knew that Remus would not be ordering a drink, now or later, because he had no money with which to pay for it. This was not something that Remus liked to talk about however and, with his usual discretion, Tom went along with his act.

Remus checked his watch. One minute to go. Again, he wondered what this was about. More than anything, Remus liked to be prepared in situations such as these. Organization was a skill of his, one that had served him well at Hogwarts with such distracting friends. But if Dumbledore had wanted him to _do_ anything, he would have told him. Remus took a deep breath to calm himself.

Sure enough, at exactly ten o'clock, Dumbledore strode purposefully through the door of the pub, looking just as he had as long as Remus could remember, silver-haired and energetic. Remus stood and extended his hand, which Dumbledore shook warmly. Even after all they had been through, all that had happened since Remus had been in school, he still had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that he was a teenager again, a teenager in the headmaster's office with secrets to hide.

"How are you, Remus?" he asked as he sat. Remus sat as well, smiling in way that he hoped was carefree and relaxed.

"Quite well, thank you, sir," he answered.

"I am certainly glad to hear it," Dumbledore said, but his piercing blue gaze, as always, seemed to see what Remus was hiding, that _quite well_ did not exactly describe his life at the moment. He was painfully aware of the shabby state of his robes, his empty pockets.

Tom was back, wiping his hands on a rag. "Can I get you gents anything? Wine? Brandy?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you Tom," answered Dumbledore. "Will that do for you, Remus?"

Remus forced himself to keep his gaze up, not fixed on the tabletop. "Tea is fine, sir, thank you."

"Not at all. And you should, of course, feel free to call me 'Albus.' A favor to me, as a friend."

"Of course… Albus."

Dumbledore, smiling calmly, said nothing more until Tom returned with the tea and had poured a cup for both of them.

"And now, I suppose you would like to know why I have asked you to meet me here."

Remus put his cup on the table. "I was wondering, yes."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "As you may know, Hogwarts has lost yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I'm afraid that we are quite running low on applicants in recent years."

Remus froze, staring down at his tea, hardly daring to hope.

"In fact, there was not a single applicant this summer that has been qualified for the post, and yet I find that I am unwilling to lower the school's standards even considering the current shortage."

Remus dragged his eyes up from his teacup, curiosity overcoming his natural reservation. Dumbledore was looking at him, his face serious.

"Remus, I would consider it a personal favor if you would agree to accept the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

For a moment, joy leaped inside Remus's chest. Not only would it be a job, a paying job, but also one that Remus had always seen himself doing. How many times had his school friends teased him about it? But his happiness quickly withered and died.

"I am honored, of course," he said softly, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes. "I truly wish that I could… but it is impossible. With my… condition… it would be irresponsible."

"Let me assure you, I have given this matter a great deal of thought," said Dumbledore. "And, being, if I may humbly say so, an exceptionally clever old man, I believe I have come to a sound decision. All that is required is your acceptance."

Remus finally looked up, confusion and irritation warring for prominence in his mind. What was Dumbledore playing at? He, of all people, knew why Remus could not accept a position at Hogwarts. It was the same reason that no one wanted to hire him. The fact was that werewolves were not trusted in the wizarding community, for good reason. Remus himself took precautions to keep those around him safe, but he was one of the few who did. Most of his kind gave up trying to integrate into wizarding society and lived a solitary life in the wild, and those who didn't hid what they were from everyone possible, always afraid of exposure. Remus Lupin himself was something of an anomaly. He couldn't bear the thought of giving up human society all together, but neither could he stomach the idea of putting others at risk by hiding what he was. So as a result, he lived a sort-of half life, mistrusted by all but his friends and getting by on money he made doing odd jobs, work that didn't bring him in contact with humans for any prolonged period of time. It was a depressing life, but the only one Remus had known ever since two of his best friends had been killed and the other imprisoned for their murders.

The fact remained that, even though Dumbledore knew that Remus Lupin was a werewolf, he was offering a long-term, steady job.

"I'm not sure what to say," Remus said, finally looking up from his now stone-cold tea. "As I said, I am honored—more than I can say—but I can't help feeling that it would be a mistake. You know what I am. I would be putting children's lives at risk."

Dumbledore smiled. "You always did put others' well-being before your own. It's one of many things that make you so qualified for the job. Let me put your mind at ease; we would have safeguards in place so that the danger you fear would effectively be eliminated. You have heard, I trust, about the recently discovered Wolfsbane Potion?"

Remus nodded. The remedy had offered new hope that, one day, lycanthropy wouldn't mean a life of isolation for those suffering from it. However, for the moment, the potion was extremely expensive and devilishly difficult to prepare. Remus had never been more than mediocre at potion making, and even if he was more talented, the ingredients were beyond his current means.

"Our Potions Master has agreed, as a precaution, to prepare the potion each month for your use," continued Dumbledore, peering over his spectacles. "He is more than up to the task, and so with a little planning there is no reason that anyone should be in any danger. Or, I should say, none that that you should worry about. There are, of course, other concerns that are unrelated to your condition that will require more intricate plans."

Remus was stunned. He could think of no other argument, and it was a moment before he was able to speak at all. "You have thought of everything it seems. I would be happy to teach at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's smile was pleased, but not surprised. Remus had no doubt that he had known all along that Remus would accept the post. The headmaster stood and extended his hand, which Remus took.

"Then let me formally congratulate you! It is a great weight off of my mind, in a time when I find so much being added and little being removed." He sat back down and poured them both more tea, which he reheated with a tap of his wand.

Remus, buoyed by the fact that he now had a purpose in life, not to mention a semblance of financial security, found himself more bold than usual. "I imagine you mean Black?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I do, as a matter of fact. Sirius Black's escape, I don't mind telling you, has left us with quite a problem to deal with. The Ministry insists on placing dementors to guard the school which is, needless to say, an inadequate solution and not a little problematic in a very practical sense."

Remus could imagine. Dementors were… _unpleasant _at the best of times, and Dumbledore had never hidden his mistrust of the Azkaban guards. "Why should they be guarding Hogwarts at all? It's not as if the school is without defenses, and Black would be insane to try to break in anyway. Why would he even want to?"

Dumbledore suddenly looked old and tired. If Remus didn't know better, he might have said that the headmaster was worried. "That's just it, Remus, the Ministry—and I, for what it's worth—are convinced that this is _exactly_ what Black is planning to do."

Remus sat back in his chair, confused. "But why? Is it true that Azkaban has driven him insane?" The words hurt to say, but to be honest Remus felt a little better with the idea of a Sirius Black out of his mind than one with all of his considerable mental faculties intact.

"Most believe so, and those in the Ministry who know better are encouraging the rumor. However, it is my belief that Sirius Black has escaped for a purpose, and will not rest until he has completed what he has set out to do. This mission will, inevitably, lead him to Hogwarts." Dumbledore stopped for a brief moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "The guards of Azkaban have reported that, for the past fortnight, Black has been mumbling in his sleep. While this may not be particularly surprising for a prisoner of that dreadful place, we are told that he always repeats the same words: _He's at Hogwarts._"

A cold shiver went down Remus's spine. "Do you know who he means?"

Dumbledore looked as grave as Remus had ever seen him. "I do. I believe that Sirius Black has escaped in order to find, and murder if he can, Harry Potter."

Remus knew that he shouldn't be surprised, but the fact was that he was shaken to his core. Of course, he had known that Harry was school age, about to begin his third year if memory served, but he rarely thought about the boy. Oh, he knew about Harry's extraordinary accomplishments of the past two years—rumor did get around, and Remus was in contact with enough members of the old crowd to keep pretty well informed about current events—but he found that thinking about Harry Potter inevitably led him to thinking about James and Lily, which he still found difficult. Besides, Dumbledore had spirited the child away to live with Muggle relatives the moment he found out about the deaths, and Remus hadn't seen him since. All of a sudden, he wondered what this child was like, this boy child who had been through so much in his young life. Brave, he imagined, but what else? He imagined James at age thirteen and found it hard to suppress a smile.

Dumbledore, with his usual ability to divine when others needed a moment to gather themselves, sipped his tea and let Remus resurface in his own time.

"And so, of course, the Ministry wishes to do everything in its power to keep him safe," he said finally.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. In his bumbling way, Cornelius Fudge is trying to help."

Remus grimaced. He couldn't help but feel a vague dislike of Fudge. The man never came right out as prejudiced against werewolves… but Remus got the feeling that he wouldn't ever be caught trying to ease their suffering, or really anything that might cause some faction or another to criticize his administration.

Dumbledore sighed. "But enough of unpleasantness. I am pleased that you have agreed to do me this favor, Remus. As time is short, I have taken the liberty of choosing a textbook for you—the very same, in fact, that you so readily learned from in your own time at Hogwarts. Is this acceptable, or did you have another book in mind?"

They spoke for some time about books and lessons plans, and Remus began to get excited. He was going back to Hogwarts, after all these years. The thought made his heart light, even with shadow of Sirius Black over everything.

It was afternoon before Dumbledore glanced at his pocket watch and announced that he needed to be going. The men shook hands, and Remus made to leave, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. As Remus turned around, Dumbledore pressed a small bag into his hand; he could feel coins through the cloth.

Remus looked up and started to hand the money back—he was not desperate enough to accept charity, not yet—but the headmaster smiled and firmly pushed his hand away.

"An advance, as is customary, for whatever preparations you may need to make prior to your arrival at the school."

Remus was skeptical that this was actually the usual way of things, but rather than arguing he placed the pouch in his pocket. There _were_ some things that might be useful… excitement welled up inside him and he began to plan.

…

Sirius still couldn't believe that he was free. True, he knew that he was still being pursued, and so he couldn't stay in one place for more than a couple of hours, but every so often he was brought up short by the feel of the wind in his fur, the multitude of scents in the air, the grass under his feet. He spent most of his time as a dog, greatly reducing the risk that he would be spotted, which meant that he could forage for food in the towns that he passed through on his journey north.

Initially his progress had been quite slow—the swim from the prison island had taken much of his strength, and for the first few days he had had to stop often to eat and rest. However, he was gaining endurance steadily, traveling all night and sleeping through the day. And lots of families were willing to give scraps to a friendly stray.

At the moment, Sirius Black was examining a signpost. He was mostly traveling by the stars, but he was unfamiliar with this part of the country, and while he was good at a great many things, hunting his own food without a wand was not one of them. One of the names on the sign made him pause. _Little Whinging. _Where had he heard that before? So much had been lost under the murky hopelessness that had invaded his mind in Azkaban.

He was about a kilometer down the road to the town when it came to him, and the remembrance was enough to stop him in his tracks. Little Whinging, Surrey. Where Lily had grown up. Where her family still lived.

Where her son still lived.

Suddenly, Sirius was consumed by a desire to see the boy, just once. Harry. His godson, the hero of the wizarding world… As a baby he had looked so much like James. Sirius wondered what he was like now, a teenager, albeit a teenager who had faced down Voldemort three times. He continued down the road, excitement a tight knot in his stomach, wondering how it would be.

Sirius entered Little Whinging in the early evening, the sky purpling above him, the summer air still and warm. Only then did he wonder how he was going to find Harry Potter. He had no idea where Lily's sister and her husband lived. But the town wasn't that large…

Several hours later, and Sirius was no closer to finding his godson than he had been when he began. He had listened in on dozens of conversations, looked in what felt like hundreds of windows, and while he saw many families having dinner or watching the news, he had had no luck. It didn't help that he had only seen Lily's sister once, and wasn't sure he even knew her married name. And not a single mention of a Harry Potter. His excitement was beginning to wane, and Sirius began to feel the anxiety that came over him whenever he stayed in one place for too long. He needed to be moving on.

As he was trotting down a sedate little street called Privet Drive, he suddenly heard a commotion ahead. To his heightened canine senses, the shouting and the pounding of feet were almost deafening, and his curiosity overwhelmed his caution. The noise seemed out-of-place in this sleepy little street, and the fact that the Muggles in the surrounding houses were not peering out their windows to investigate suggested magical involvement. Sirius was going to have to be very careful.

Slowly, he padded up to number four, where he discovered the scene of the chaos. Wizards in Ministry robes were apparently arguing heatedly with a very large man with a huge walrus mustache, standing in an immaculately tidy front garden. What business did the Ministry of Magic have with this Muggle man? A suspicion began to form in his mind, but it wasn't until an extremely bony woman with a long face who had been hiding behind the man peered around the bulk of her husband that Sirius was sure that this was the house he had been looking for. Darting into a shadow, he focused on the argument that was making the fat Muggle's face turn an alarming shade of purple.

"Mr. Dursley, if you would just let us in, we'll set her right—"

"YOU'LL GET OFF OF MY PROPERTY THIS INSTANT OR I'LL—"

"Sir, please calm down, it's a simple procedure—"

The conversation continued in this vein for several minutes as Sirius listened. Eventually, Dursley allowed the wizards into the house, no longer shouting, though his face was still quite red and his eyes bulged with what appeared to be panic. Sirius longed to catch a glimpse of Harry, but he dared not go any closer, not with the place crawling with Ministry officials. There was more shrieking from inside the house, and a dog barking—bull dog, Sirius thought. He couldn't bring himself to leave, though. Not when he was so close…

It wasn't long before the wizards emerged again, looking quite harried and glad to leave. Only one remained, though he seemed to waver as he turned back to Dursley.

"Mr. Dursley, are you sure you cannot tell us where your nephew might have gone? It's not safe for him to be out on his own, given the current climate."

Dursley's face went, if possible, even darker. "That boy damn well better not show his face around here again! I don't know where he went and I don't care. Good riddance, I say."

Sirius was startled. Harry wasn't there? Run away, from the sound of it, and considering how this man was talking about him Sirius didn't blame Harry at all. Still, he probably wasn't far—whatever situation had required that the Ministry show up in a Muggle town had apparently had something to do with the boy. Sirius immediately took off up the street, and when he caught a familiar scent, he knew he was on the right track. An owl, much lower to the ground than one would be flying. This one was in a cage.

Sirius caught up with his godson a few streets later. He rounded a corner, and suddenly the boy was in front of him, dragging a heavy school trunk, a snowy owl in a cage in the other hand. Sirius could only see his back, but even so he could tell that Harry had his father's slight build and black, untidy hair. The sight made Sirius's breath catch in his chest. Silently, he slunk into a side alley, where he could remain hidden.

At that moment, the boy stopped to sit and rest on a garden wall, and Sirius looked at his godson for the first time in twelve years.

For a minute, Sirius was transported back through the years, to his own school days. Harry looked _exactly_ like James. Though it was dark, his canine eyes had no trouble seeing Harry's every feature, so like his father's. He doubted there was a centimeter difference in their heights. As he looked closer, though, he began to see some of Lily, too. The eyes, of course, the same brilliant green. But there was something else too, something in the way he held himself…

Sirius knew that, now that he had achieved what he had come for, he should move on before he was seen—he knew that even the Muggles had been warned about his escape, and while no Muggle would ever suspect that a dog could possibly be the infamous convict, he shouldn't take chances. But even as Harry bent over his trunk, looking for something, he couldn't tear himself away. He felt almost paternal toward this young man that he had never met. He couldn't think of leaving, not knowing where his godson was going or whether he would be all right. Before he could hold it back, a very low, very soft whine slipped between his teeth.

Though by all logic the noise had been too quiet for the boy to hear, Harry straightened momentarily, and when he didn't see anything on the street, he bent back over the trunk. Sirius could tell, though, that he was listening intently. Sirius froze, torn between running away and trying to stay silent. Harry stood up again, and looked directly at the spot where Sirius was standing. Sirius remained motionless, hoping that Harry would decide that he was just being jumpy and look away. Instead, he lit his wand.

Sirius knew that the sight must be startling at best, a giant black dog hulking in the shadows. The shock caused Harry to fall backward over his trunk and into the street, his wand flying in an arc to the pavement. With its characteristic bang, the vividly purple Knight Bus appeared millimeters from where the boy was. Sirius was relieved. Harry wouldn't think that he'd seen anything more than a stray dog, and he'd be safe on the Knight Bus. He finally slipped off into the night, heading north, toward Hogwarts.


End file.
